In my field of paper flowers
by ConsultingRavenclawCompanion
Summary: (One-shot) Voldemort survived the night of the Potter's death and the world is now under his ruling - but what has become of it? Are his spies still his spies? Are the muggleborns still being taught at Hogwarts? And despite lasting ten years already, will he last much longer, even with his 'secret weapon' once the population find out what it is?


**Clearly, everything you recognise belongs to JK Rowling, our beautiful queen. I do not own it, do not plan to gain any profit from this. Sorry if there's any spelling mistakes in this, I don't have a beta. Also, it's my first fanfiction, so please be nice? xD Oh, and it's AU.**

Unfortunately, Neville Longbottom was not an unusual young wizard of eleven. In the year 1991, many of the children in the Wizarding World were orphans and living with other relatives – Neville Longbottom was the same. However, what _was _different about him was that his parents hadn't been murdered, but tortured into insanity, and resided permanently in St Mungo's. Neville lived with his Grandmother.

On this particular morning, the young boy in question was sitting at the breakfast table eating a piece of toast and reading the _Daily Prophet. _His Grandmother, Augusta, was preparing for a whole family meal – although the days when the Longbottom family had filled the table were long gone. When the owl knocked on the window, it was Neville who allowed her access.

Mr N. Longbottom

_Dear Mr Neville Longbottom,_

_You will be expected at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on 1__st__ September 1991. Enclosed are your book lists and uniform guide._

_Yours sincerely,  
Headmaster Snape_

Augusta snatched the letter away from her Grandson. Reading over it briefly – as it was very brief in it's content – she sighed. Knowing Neville had got into Hogwarts should've been a happy occasion, shared with his parents. It should not have filled her with dread in the way that it did.

"It's compulsory, my son," she sighed softly – a far cry from the usual, brisk manner of speaking that usually took over Augusta Longbottom. Heavens knows what Neville would be subjected to at Hogwarts! As the son of the Longbottoms, it was a particularly disturbing thought.

"I know." Two words, sounding so small from the boy's voice – for Neville knew of war; this was his life, and he was used to being ruled over, to being told what he could and could not do.

"Why don't you go and see Ron?" Neville nodded and smiled, and he was soon swept up in his regular preparations for the day. Teeth brushed, clothes changed, cloak and broom shrunk to size, he grabbed some floo powder – and away he went.

Elsewhere in the country, a small girl with brown bushy hair and buck teeth shat between her parents. She was not like Neville; she was not magical, and she had been spared, as had her parents – although she wasn't know this herself until September, nor would she understand why. Opposite her sat a Ministry Official – or that was what he'd introduced himself as – and he spoke of a place beyond her wildest dreams.

He spoke of magic, and of healing, and of all the things she could learn, and all the books she could read. She crossed her arms across her stomach, and refused to allow herself to be sucked into this wonderful world – but she couldn't help it. She, Hermione Granger, was a sucker for a good book. "Oh mom, _please, _can I go?" she begged, turning to the woman next to her, clinging to her, those hazel eyes wide and innocent, and not yet ready to face the terrors that Hogwarts would bring a child like her.

Her mother coughed, and looked over her head to Hermione's father, and they did that thing where they talked without speaking. "Honey, we'll have to talk about it, okay? Now, why don't you go and pop the kettle on whilst we talk to Mr Bishop?" Hermione did as her mother asked, although her mind was soaring – she thought of what the school would look like, and the classes she would go to, the new friends she would make, and the latter was something she really did dream about. Hermione didn't have many friends, and thought perhaps it was always because there was something odd about her – now she knew why. She was a witch.

As she waited for the kettle to boil, she tried to strain to hear what her parents were saying in the room next door. "Well, there's been a lot of violence these past few years…" That was definitely her father.

"Mr Granger, I can assure you that Hogwarts is an outstanding school, and the students' safety is paramount. She's likely to be better protected in Scotland at Hogwarts than in a muggle school, as Hogwarts is off limits to many of the world's population. If this is your worry, I feel it is unfounded." Mr Bishop was clearly a very good talker, Hermione thought, and very good at putting her parents' – and many others' - worries to rest. She relaxed against the door, smiling to herself. Yes, her parents were sure to let her go to Hogwarts if it were down to him.

The room went silent again, or at least the bushy-haired girl couldn't hear, and so Hermione returned to the tea. A few minutes later, she entered the living room with a tray of the mugs and some biscuits and set it on the coffee table in front of the adults.

"So?" The girl was clearly impatient to hear the decision her parents had come up with.

However, it was not them that spoke. "I'll be back here tomorrow to collect you to take you to Diagon Alley for your supplies."

Mr Bishop did come back, and the time that Hermione Granger spent waiting to go to Hogwarts came and went. Soon, she was a first year boarding the train for Hogwarts with the rest of the students, both new and old. The train ride was tiresome and long; she spent it sat next to a plump boy named Neville Longbottom, who told her that he wished he were at home, and that she were mad for being excited. When she got huffy with him, she left in search of other first years, and soon came to a conclusion; those who didn't know anything about the Wizarding world were excited, whilst those who did were weary, and already wished for home.

When they reached Hogwarts though, Hermione had smirked smugly at how impressed _all _of the first years were – although she too was impressed with how vast it was. It was a castle, big and glorious and beautiful in all of its splendour. She couldn't see much in the dark though, and hoped she'd be able to come out and see it when it was lighter.

Once inside, Hermione realised how cold it had been out, and she shivered in the warmth. They reached the entrance, and the first years stood outside the doors of the Great Hall, only to be greeted by the Headmaster. He was a greasy-haired man, with a hook nose and deep black eyes, and when he moved, his robes swished around him, but Hermione smiled at him all the same, because she'd always liked her teachers, no matter what they looked like, and they'd always liked her in return.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," he greeted, although Hermione thought he didn't really mean it. He looked tired, with bags under his eyes, and worn in a way that said he had sleepless nights tossing and turning in worry. "You'll be sorted in a few moments." He said this with a heavy sigh, in a way that made her cock her head. "If the muggleborns with line up here, the halfbloods here, the purebloods here and-"

"Blood traitors over by the mudbloods." Suddenly, a very snake-like voice cut the Headmaster off, and though the voice sounded slippery and dark and whispered, it bounced and seemed to echo inside of Hermione. She felt cold after that voice had spoken, and she pulled her robe tighter around herself.

There was a commotion as Neville and a boy with red hair went to stand by the purebloods. A white haired boy stepped forwards. "You're with the blood traitors, Weasel," he hissed, stepping dangerously close to the red haired boy. Hermione frowned as she watched him go bright red and pull Neville away, over to the line she was standing in. As she realised '_mudblood' _was a derogatory turn for what _she _was, she felt like cold water had been tipped all over her. She wondered why the Headmaster didn't say anything.

Instead, he watched as the students assembled themselves. When he seemed content, he walked them into the Great Hall, where there were four rows of tables, two of them distinctly pulled away from the others. The muggleborns and the 'blood traitors' seemed to have the dirtiest uniform, although it was definitely the most colourful, painted in different colourful, decorated in badges, and Hermione's brow creased as she slipped into a seat next to a tall boy with red hair and glasses and a _'Carer' _badge stuck to his uniform. He looked like he was a relative of the one who'd tried to slip into the line with the purebloods.

Hermione glanced up at the ceiling, which was black. _Where was the enchanted ceiling? _She'd read about that in Hogwarts, a History. Maybe it'd been made up, the way that much of the stories of Hogwarts seemed to be made up. This didn't seem anything like she'd imagined it.

The Headmaster was talking, she realised, and so she turned her attention back to him as she school began clapping – the purebloods more so than the rest, although there were a couple of enthusiastic halfbloods, and maybe one or two muggleborns. Suddenly, Hermione wanted to be violently sick.

In front of her stood the most vile of men she had ever seen, if you could even call him a man. His eyes were red, and his nostrils were like that of a snake's, and his head was bald. Thankfully, that was all she could really see from where she sat, other than the black robe he wore, but it was enough to know that he didn't look human.

"Ow," she heard, and she realised that she was clinging onto the redhead next to her, the one with glasses. She mouthed a sorry and went to release him, but he held onto her hand, and pulled her closer. He understood, she realised – they all did. They'd all had to face him. She wanted to turn her face into his chest, but she found that she couldn't tear her eyes away from _him._

Down the table, Neville sat next to Ron. The two had been best friends since they were born, but Neville couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Ron so scared – not even the time the twins had turned his teddy bear into a spider compared to this, and that had been pretty bad. And Neville? Well, Neville was holding his breath, and hoping all of this would be over quickly.

"Welcome students," the snake-like man said. "Another year has gone and now we start afresh…" Neville's skin crawled. "However, this year – this year is a special year. This is the year that my son will join Hogwarts." You could've heard a pin drop, the hall was so quiet. "There was once this silly rumour that he'd defeat me, but you see – well, he's mine now. He was lost, and now he is found, and I bring him back to you, back to his rightful place by my side in the Wizarding World."

Neville was holding his breath. Hermione was gripping the redhead's arm, understanding this was important, although not truly getting why.

"Harry Potter."

**Please review! Only because I want to know whether I should continue or not. I will for my own sake, but I have more motivation if I know people want to read it. So if you like it, tell me. If you don't, tell me ****_why, _****don't just be mean :P**


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